


Tourist Trap

by Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-10
Updated: 2011-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gorgeousnerd/pseuds/Gorgeous%20Nerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean wears cowboy crap, and Sam just wants to read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tourist Trap

**Author's Note:**

> A very happy (and slightly belated) Mother's Day to my mom! Thanks to short_hemline for the beta. (Also on [LJ](http://chomalfoyfics.livejournal.com/42962.html) and [DW](http://firmament.dreamwidth.org/36094.html).)

Sam finished _A Brief History of Virginia City_ just as they turned out of Gold Hill and Virginia City itself came into view.

They'd never been in this part of the state before, but he wasn't a big fan of Nevada. Too much brown, not enough...well, anything, really. And judging by the look of things, Virginia City wasn't any different.

Dad took one of his hands off the steering wheel to shake Dean's shoulder. "Hey. We're here."

Dean snorted and jerked in the front seat. "Wazzat?"

Sam rolled his eyes and snapped his book shut.

"Okay, boys," John said as the Impala struggled up the last slope before hitting the town proper. "I'm gonna be up the hill all afternoon. You still have the address, Dean?"

"Yes, sir." Dean's voice was thick with sleep.

"Good. Stay in town unless you really need me."

It took another five minutes for them to find a piece of sidewalk - well, if boards could count as sidewalk - to park against. The streets were thick with people. Most of them were dressed like tourists: huge, baggy, eye-bleeding clothes and clunky cameras. The rest were dressed like tourists, but with crappy cowboy accessories over their clothes.

"Oh no," Sam groaned.

Seconds later, Dean brightened at the sight of a cowboy hat and sat up straight. He slapped his hands on his thighs as Dad brought the car to a stop.

"Day's looking up!" he said.

"Need money?" Dad asked.

Dean shot Sam a grin over his shoulder. "Nah. We're covered."

They climbed out, and Dad started jogging up the street.

Dean slung his arm over Sam's shoulder. "So! Where should we start?"

"A place to read," Sam said, shrugging Dean's arm off. He didn't have a new book, but _A Brief History of Virginia City_ was in his pocket.

"Don't be a killjoy. I got cash to spend and time to kill!" He pat the pocket of his jeans.

"How much?"

"Enough."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Remember how I snuck out night before last?"

Sam snorted. Dean had shook him awake, made sure he knew where the shotgun was, and walked out the door of their room before Sam had fallen back asleep.

"Well," Dean said as if Sam had answered, "I went to a bar and won a few rounds of pool."

"You're fourteen. They let you in a bar?"

"Turns out they don't watch the back of bars as close as they should," Dean said. "I managed to get five-hundred dollars before they kicked me out."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he was a little impressed. It wasn't chump change.

"That means we can do whatever we want. Paint the town red."

Sam looked around. The faded wood look didn't do much for him. "Red might be an improvement."

"Look, mine tours." Dean grabbed a brochure off a stand. "Says here most of the town's got mines underneath. Whoa, they actually turn off the lights in the middle of it. That'd be pretty freaky, huh?"

"Sure." There had to be a park in town, right? Somewhere quiet?

Dean stuffed the brochure into his jacket pocket. "Mark Twain Museum? Sounds boring. Wait, who's this chick?"

Sam looked up at the sign and weighed his options. On one hand, this was a definite keep-Dean-distracted topic. On the other hand, Dean might force him to go in.

"Julia Bulette? Schoolteacher. First one out here."

Dean made a yuck face and looked away from all the red lights hanging in the window. When he focused on something else, he started to grin.

"Oh no," Sam said.

"Oh yes." Dean grabbed Sam's hand. "We're so doing this."

-

Sam got off lucky. He'd put on the cheapy cowboy stuff for only a half-hour, and he didn't have to keep it. Of course, Dean had sepia-colored photographic evidence, but Sam had a lighter and the know-how to use it.

But Dean hadn't stopped with the old-time photo. He'd gone the whole nine yards: fake spurs with bells to make them clink, fake six-shooters in fake leather holsters (never mind the real pistol in Dean's jacket), fake chaps with leather straps for that "authentic" smell, an admittedly half-decent cowboy hat, and a big cap shotgun he slung over his shoulder.

"I think we should hit up a saloon," Dean said, hooking a thumb in his belt. "Get whiskey at the bar."

Sam decided not to waste his time saying they'd be too young. "Go for it. I'm gonna read."

He'd managed to turn the corner and walk part of the way down a steep side street before he heard Dean's "Killjoy!"

Sam passed a horse-drawn carriage when the Catholic church came into view, taller and more imposing than any of the other buildings. He'd had more than enough of churches for a lifetime, but there were usually quiet places to read. People left churches alone.

They also left schools alone, and there was a school right across the street. Perfect.

"Come on, it'll be fun!"

"No, Dean!" he yelled without turning around.

Sam stepped into a parking space. Normally, no big deal. But the pavement crumbled beneath his feet like thin ice, and Sam fell with a cry.

"Sam? Sammy!"

He slammed into the bottom of a pit. He couldn't breathe, not right away. But he could hear Dean, so he wasn't dead. Cool. Didn't have his book anymore, though. He gasped a little and waited for his breathing to even out.

"Can you hear me?"

Sam coughed. It was dusty, and dark. "Yeah, I can hear you."

"Is anything broken?"

He tried moving his arms and legs. Everything ached, but nothing seemed really painful. "No. Just give me a second."

Sam pushed to his feet. It was mid-afternoon, so there was plenty of light coming in, but it stopped not too far from Sam's feet. Still, it was enough to see that the ceiling wasn't too high - he wouldn't be moving around if it was - even if he couldn't reach it. He could also see wooden beams, and the way the walls curved out.

A mine. Duh.

"Hey, Dean!" he yelled, without taking his eyes away. "You got a rope or--"

There was a loud thud as Dean crashed down behind him. Not because anything collapsed - it looked like Sam had fallen through the only part of the shaft that hadn't been shored up - but because he threw himself in.

"Ow," Dean said.

"What the hell?" Sam held out a hand, and Dean took it. "You could've thrown me something, jerk."

When Dean was on his feet again, he said, "Maybe I wanted a look."

"Yeah, because that's--"

There was a whooshing sound. Both Sam and Dean jerked.

"Did you--"

"Yeah." Dean had his gun out. "Get behind me."

Normally, Sam would try to tough it out, but he was weaponless and shaking a little from the fall. And Sam was a lot of things, but reckless wasn't one of them. He got behind Dean.

There was another whoosh.

"Hello?" Dean said.

"--buried me--"

"Sorry, what was that?"

"--left me for dead--"

Great. Pissed-off spirit. Just what Sam needed to complete his day.

"I can't hear you," Dean said. He sounded as annoyed as Sam felt.

A figure stepped into the light. He wore a vest, boots, and a tattered cowboy hat, and he looked generally confused.

"Why are you dressed like that?" he said.

Dean shot him. Sam's ears rang, but the ghost disappeared.

"See, even Casper thinks you have crap taste," Sam said.

Dean curled his lip at Sam, but he said, "I've got the basics. Let's find this asshole and torch him."

"You brought salt and gas with you?"

"We're in an old West town," Dean said. "You're kidding, right?"

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled his flashlight out of his jacket pocket. "Let's get this over with."

-

By the time they climbed out of the hole, the sun had mostly disappeared behind the hills and brought a chill with it. Sam was smoky, dirty, and generally done with everything.

Still, Dean had left all the tacky crap in the mine. It could be worse.

"What do you think about ice cream?" Dean asked, patting himself down to get some of the clouds of dirt off. Sam decided not to tell him he was fighting a losing battle. "I saw a fudge place back up the hill."

Sam smiled despite himself. "I could go for some mint chocolate chip."

"Awesome."

Dean slung his arm around Sam's shoulder as they walked away. Sam didn't push it off.


End file.
